That's Michaelmas; you must remember
  That Michaelmas is in September!                     ARTHUR.  Northward the swallow sweeps his wing.                    MÆCENAS.  No, no! the bird arrives in spring!                     ARTHUR.  Such knowledge fits the country clown;
  We've better things to note in town.
  What's Nature's lore compared with women's?                      JOHN.  For this enigma go to S-m-ns;
  He is the----                     ARTHUR.                  Yes, I am, I know,
  The devil of a Romeo!                      JOHN.  Hark! hark! the waits, the precious waits!
  Their music beats at Heaven's gates.                    MÆCENAS.  What Bodley wight will sing a stave
  To match their strumming? I would have
  The manly bass of Hobbes's voice;
  But Unwin's house is Hobbes's choice.
  George! you've a baritone at need.                     GEORGE.  Alas! my famous _Keynotes_ lead
  To _Discords_.                      JOHN.                I've a little thing
  _Of Resurrection_. Shall I sing?                     ARTHUR.  Please do; but _à propos_ of what?                      JOHN.  I cannot say, unless _de bottes_.[_Proceeds to sing a Ballad of Resurrection._  A letter-card from my dear love!
    O folded page of blessed blue!
  She burst her many-buttoned glove,
    And ripped the perforation through.  "My love, to-night, about eleven,
    With never a priest or passing-bell,
  We die! and meet, with luck, in Heaven,
    But anyhow at least in Hell!"  Her courage very nearly failed,
    In fact she swooned along the floor;
  But curiosity prevailed,
    She came again and read some more.  "There is no way but this to choose;
    My people fain would have us wed;
  But you and I have later views,
    And scorn the vulgar marriage-bed.  "Far be it from me to dictate
    How best to break the mortal bond,
  But personally I may state
    That I shall use the village pond.  "Be punctual, love, and let us meet
    For weal or woe!
  This line has lost a pair of feet;
    The post is now about to go."  Ay, ay, she thought, to meet were well,
    But if we found each other out?
  You, say, in Heaven, I in Hell,
    Or else the other way about!  Nay, there be heavy odds, she said,
    One fate shall save us both or damn;
  We surely shall be bracketed!

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